


Cuddles and Chocolate Cake

by paramount_hat



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock (TV) RPF
Genre: Drunkenness, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Mug Cakes, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-21
Updated: 2011-08-21
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paramount_hat/pseuds/paramount_hat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Inspired by two prompts on the <a href="http://sherlockrpf.livejournal.com/3173.html">RPF kink meme</a>: one about a drunken and cuddly Benedict, the other about mug cakes. Speaking of the kink meme, it's unfortunately quite dead, but I'm still checking it once in a while for inspiration. If you have an idea, never hesitate to prompt me, or prompt the meme, and I'll consider writing it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Cuddles and Chocolate Cake

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by two prompts on the [RPF kink meme](http://sherlockrpf.livejournal.com/3173.html): one about a drunken and cuddly Benedict, the other about mug cakes. Speaking of the kink meme, it's unfortunately quite dead, but I'm still checking it once in a while for inspiration. If you have an idea, never hesitate to prompt me, or prompt the meme, and I'll consider writing it.

Benedict giggled as he tried to subtly approach Martin, who had his back turned and was making coffee. As quiet and cat-like as Benedict could usually be, he was far from discreet when he was drunk. If the giggling hadn’t been enough to give him away, the loud expletive coming out of his mouth when he tripped on his own foot certainly was. Martin smiled at the cupboard when he took out two mugs; he was a little tipsy himself, but he hadn’t drunk as much as Benedict, and therefore still retained most of his faculties.

They were currently filming the second episode of Sherlock, and while most of the scenes were being filmed in Cardiff, they were currently in London for a few days. This, according to Benedict, was something they needed to celebrate, that’s why he and Martin had found themselves in a pub to share a few drinks. Martin had limited his alcohol intake, mainly because he didn’t relish the idea of being hung-over the next day, but also because he genuinely enjoyed a tipsy Benedict, and wanted to keep an eye on him.  
Martin had observed four stages to Benedict’s drunkenness. In the first one, he spoke and laughed louder (and even more) than he usually did. In the second one, he became much quieter, and everything he wanted to say became a secret whispered directly into Martin’s ear. The third stage was Martin’s favourite; as warm and affectionate as Benedict was with him when sober, it was increased tenfold when he was in stage three. If Benedict continued to drink after that, he entered stage four, and as entertaining as that was, it was not as enjoyable as the third stage. Which was the stage he was in at the moment.

After the pub, they had taken a cab to Benedict’s flat where Martin was currently making coffee in an attempt to sober them up a bit. Benedict had watched the coffee-making process with fascination and amusement, until he had decided Martin needed help; help he could provide by attaching himself to his back. Martin let out a small laugh when Benedict’s arms circled his waist, and he felt warm breath tickling his neck. Just as he was about to pour coffee into their mugs, Benedict drew him closer to him and away from the counter to hug him tightly from behind, and he started giggling very softly again. “What’s so funny?” Martin asked, smiling. “You are. You’re funny. I want to keep you.” “Yeah I bet you do, but right now you’re keeping me from pouring coffee,” Martin said, and Benedict burst out laughing, tightening his hold even more.

When Martin took a step towards the counter, Benedict followed, his arms never leaving Martin’s waist. From the way he laughed, it seemed as if he had rarely seen anything as hilarious as Martin pouring coffee into mugs. When Martin turned around and handed him one, Benedict let go of Martin, and suddenly turned intensely serious.

“Thank you Martin,” he said before bringing the mug to his lips.

“Careful there, you don’t want to burn yourself!”

Benedict looked down, and started delicately blowing on his coffee, his eyes never leaving Martin’s. Smiling a little timidly under the persistent gaze, Martin looked away and took one small sip, which is why he didn’t get any warning before Benedict started stroking his lower back, dangerously close to his waistband. He chocked on his mouthful, and had to concentrate really hard not to spit everything down his front. Benedict, unsurprisingly, thought it was extremely funny, and he put his mug on the counter to hug Martin again.

“You take such good care of me,” Benedict said as he pressed his cheek to Martin’s head, breathing in to fill his nostrils with the smell of his shampoo.

“I do, don’t I?” Martin replied, and he drew soothing circles on Benedict’s back with his right hand, the other one still holding his coffee.

“Tonight was fun, though, right?”

“It was,” Martin agreed.

They remained in that position for a few minutes, until Benedict took a step back. He didn’t let go of Martin though; he gripped his biceps, and looked at him with intent eyes. Martin stared back, slightly amused as he wondered what very serious confession would come out of his friend’s mouth.

“You know what would be delicious in these mugs instead of coffee?” Benedict asked.

“No, what?” Martin asked, making no effort to hide the fact that he was finding the whole situation exceptionally amusing.

“Cake.”

“Cake?”

“Cake!”

Martin bit back the urge to ask “Cake?” again; Benedict being drunk meant this particular exchange could go on all night. Instead, he settled for a question he knew would move the conversation forward.

“Do you even _have_ cake? And if you do, why do you want to put it in your mug?”

Benedict's whole face lit up as he smiled, and his eyes twinkled mischievously.

“I don't have cake, but I can make some. In our mugs!” he said, and from the way he said it, it sounded as though he had discovered the fountain of youth.

“You want to make cake. In your mug. Right now,” Martin said, and Benedict nodded enthusiastically.

“Not just in my mug. In yours too, of course. Because you take such good care of me.”

Martin had to laugh; Benedict's enthusiasm was contagious, and he felt himself getting carried away by it. Suddenly, making cake at one in the morning in Benedict's kitchen seemed like the best idea anyone had ever had, and he wanted nothing more than to be part of the project too.

Perhaps he wasn't as sober as he thought he was.

“I didn't know you could make cake in a mug, you'll have to teach me,” he said with a smile.

“They're called mug cakes,” Benedict said, and he let go of Martin's arms to start hunting for ingredients, only stopping to take small, careful sips of his coffee.

He rummaged through cupboards and in his refrigerator until flour, sugar, cocoa powder, eggs, milk, oil, and vanilla were scattered on the previously uncluttered counter. Benedict watched the ingredients with a frown, something was obviously bothering him, but he didn't seem to know what exactly. He recited the ingredients again under his breath, until he finally figured out what he was missing.

“Chocolate chips!” he said, and Martin looked around, as if chocolate chips were about to jump from behind the coffee machine.

“I'm sure it will be just as good without them,” Martin said, but Benedict continued to frown.

“There must be something we could replace them with,” he said, ignoring Martin's comment.

Then, he started looking through his cupboards again, and he let out a triumphant cry when he found an opened bag of miniature marshmallows.

“Look what I've found!” he announced, and Martin smiled fondly at him, enjoying his child-like joy.

“You're almost thirty-five Ben, what are you doing with marshmallows?”

“Hot cocoa,” he answered matter-of-factly, and Martin laughed.

“Of course, I don't know why I even asked. Now, please show me how to turn our mugs into delicious chocolate cake.”

“First,” Benedict said, “finish your coffee.”

Their coffees were not as hot anymore, and only a few gulps were required to finish their cups. Once they were done, Martin rinsed their mugs, dried them off, and waited for Benedict's instructions.

The instructions didn't come.

Benedict insisted on preparing the mug cakes alone, claiming it was a delicate process, and that he wanted to do something nice for Martin, who was taking such good care of him. Martin giggled softly as Benedict's tongue darted out in concentration while he measured the ingredients; he applied himself to the task with the same fervour as if he had been handling something incredibly valuable. Surprisingly, considering his state of inebriation, Benedict managed to measure everything without making too much of a mess, and soon the two mugs were revolving in the microwave. They both watched them while the timer counted down the minutes left until their treat would be ready. When the microwave beeped, Benedict smiled widely, and carefully took the two mugs out.

Martin had expected the whole thing to end in disaster, but the brown and moist mixture in the mugs looked like cake, and smelled like cake. Benedict’s proud expression was so endearing, Martin felt the urge to kiss him. He fought that urged, wrestled it into a box and buried it deep inside himself. Kissing was not something they did. Hugging and cuddling, yes, but their affectionate friendship hadn’t progressed further than that. Not that Martin wasn’t in favour of some progress, but they had been dancing around each other for weeks now, and the tension was still in that magnificent stage where it still feels dangerous and a little forbidden. He wasn’t in any hurry; they still had time, and if (when) it ever happened, it wouldn’t be when they were both inebriated.

When Benedict handed him his mug, Martin smiled warmly and suggested they moved to the living room where they would be more comfortable. Benedict laughed, and he ran to the sofa while shouting that it was the best idea Martin had ever had. Martin smiled and shushed him, while thinking that a drunken Benedict was undeniably good for his ego, and he grabbed a couple of spoons before moving to the living room. Benedict was kneeling on the sofa, waiting for him, and when Martin sat down and offered him a spoon, he took it and rested his head on Martin’s shoulder. The first mouthful of cake was somewhat surprising; Martin had been a little suspicious of the whole process, but he had to admit Benedict knew what he was doing when cakes and mugs were involved. The cake was hot, flavourful, and the marshmallows made it sweeter and softer than a cake had any right to be. As far as late-night treats were involved, this was good stuff.

“This is so good,” Martin said with his mouth full.

Benedict looked up to smile at him, and Martin noticed a small chocolate smudge on his top lip. The lip so beautiful and perfect, it attracted the gazes of women and men everywhere he went. Martin couldn't help himself, he reached out with his thumb, and swiped it over the delicate cupid's bow to remove all traces of chocolate. Then, he cleaned his thumb with a small flick of his tongue that made Benedict's eyes widen slightly. They ate their cakes in silence, the only noises in the room were the television playing softly in the background and Benedict intermittent giggles. When they were both done, Martin yawned and put his mug on the coffee table.

“It's late, I should go home.”

Immediately, Benedict let his empty mug fall to the floor, and shuffled down until his head was resting on Martin's lap.

“No, stay,” he said, and Martin laughed softly as he started carding his fingers through Benedict's uncommonly soft curls.

“You're not that drunk; you don't need me to look after you during the night,” Martin said while he massaged Benedict's scalp, which had the effect of making him curl up even more and nuzzle Martin’s thigh.

“You don't need to keep watch, you could just stay here. It's late, and it won't be easy finding a cab. I could cook you breakfast tomorrow morning, and we could get on set together,” Benedict suggested.

“Way to stir the rumour mill,” Martin said, laughing.

“We often get on set together.”

“Yeah, in Cardiff, where we’re staying in the same hotel.

Still, he couldn't lie: the offer was more than tempting. He couldn't imagine walking away from Benedict when he was so giggly and affectionate. Also, if Benedict could make breakfast as well as he could make mug cakes, he didn't doubt breakfast would be much better than his usual banana.

“All right, I'm staying,” he said, and Benedict looked up to flash him a wide smile.

“Yes, you are, because you take very, very good care of me,” he said.

Martin laughed, and Benedict tried to snuggle even closer, using his feet to brace himself against the armrest of the sofa. When he noticed Martin’s hand in his hair had stopped moving, he butted his head against it until the tender stroking resumed. He had never seemed more catlike than he did at the moment, and Martin continued to stroke his curls affectionately. It wasn't long before Benedict was asleep, but Martin continued to play with his hair for an hour after that, trying to catalogue every single sound Benedict made in his sleep.

Eventually, he had to wake him up; Martin needed to sleep too, or he would be utterly useless the next day. So he did wake Benedict up, albeit reluctantly, but the sight that greeted his eyes was so lovely, Martin was glad he had awakened him. Benedict stared up blearily, mumbled something incoherent, and only accepted to move once Martin promised to go to bed with him. Benedict did get up then, slid an arm around Martin's waist, and led them to his bedroom where they fell into bed, both exhausted. Martin smiled when Benedict curled up around him, and the last thing he registered before falling asleep was the soft tickling of curls against his cheek.


End file.
